a pounding in my heart
by charbrose
Summary: dean knew why his heart always pounded so hard, like the organ was actually going to escape, around nikki; he just had to finally clue her in on the fact that he loved her {established dean/nikki}


_a/n: i've always wanted to write nikkrose, and since because it's cassadyamore's birthday aka mushyface, it's the perfect time. this was also inspired by a post from nikki's instagram that i saw on tumblr where she was wearing a white dress and captioned it with "a bride in my own way" or something to that effect._

* * *

**~*~a pounding in my heart~*~**

It's dumb, _so unbelievably_ dumb. It's just a fucking picture. Nothing special. Or different than the other 9,000 or whatever she posts to her instagram. No different than the one of her in the blue crush velvet suit. No different than the obscenely tight red dress with the studs and the low cut neck-line that showed off her perfectly buxom frame.

If _anything_ was different about it, it was the caption that went with it.

**_a bride in my own way._**

Six simple words. Nothing revolutionary about them. Nothing like when she went on her rant against AJ; defending herself and Brie against the petite Diva's harsh words. But, _fuck_, if those damned words weren't stuck in his head. If they hadn't slipped under his skin, making him want to claw and scratch until he reached bone so they would fucking go away.

"Yeah, I don't think so," That familiar tone, cocky and smooth, right in his ear; heat _instantly_ curling in the pit of his stomach. "That's _my job_; tearing your hair out by the roots. Though," Now it's a purr, seductive and filled with lusty intent. "Your arms look hot as hell, all bunched up, and flexing."

Perfectly manicured nails slide up and down; mapping curves of biceps before digging in _just so_, that little bit of pain to mix wonderfully with the pleasure she so easily inspired.

There goes the pounding of his heart, like always, whenever she's near. So loud and thundering, like the organ's desperate to break free and his mind spirals; remembering _every time_ they've been like this. Every time she's been pressed against him; her expensive Chanel perfume so heady and warm invading his every pore, the sweetest smell there's ever been.

Except when there's that glistening sheen of sweat on her sunkissed skin and she's practically glowing, and looking too fucking good to be true.

"Hey," Her voice drops, softer and sweeter, as her nails go gentle as well. He doesn't have to turn to know those luscious lips are pouting.

"Dean..." His name warm and loving on her tongue, and he feels his whole body go tense. He hears _it_ in her tone, that she loves him. He knows she does, not because she's said the words, but because of the tone in her voice and the way the four letters slip from those lips; easy and sweet. And there goes his heart; pounding and thundering, and he knows why. But she doesn't. He should probably tell her, it's something she'd want to hear, but the words stay buried deep. Stuck in his throat; never managing to make it to the surface of his tongue, ready and waiting for his brain to catch up.

"Babe?" Questioning and confusion, her beautifully shaped brows furrowing and a cute little frown appearing across gorgeous features, like when they exchanged presents for Christmas. The small jewelry box with the familiar Chopard scrawl a surprise. She had gasped, lips forming that sexy 'o' shape, and then she had pounced on him, laughing melodically and kissing him all over, leaving lipstick marks all over his face.

"I gotta go find Ro." Grumbling and distant as he pushes her hands way. Hurt, he knows, without looking has marred that gorgeous face. He can't look back; knowing he's done that, knowing he's running away, tail tucked between his legs cause he's too fucking chicken shit to tell her the goddamned truth.

He's in love with her.

And he can't get that picture of her out of his head.

Or those six words that came with it.

* * *

Roman just observes Dean quietly, not attempting to utter a syllable since the other man burst into his locker room. He knows something is weighing heavily on his best friend. He can tell by the bunch of his broad shoulders, the tension in his jaw which is working overtime as he grumbles under his breath while he pulls at the strands of his hair, ready to tear it out by the roots.

**"Fuck!"** Roars from the mouth of the Cincinatti native, looking at Roman with desperate steel blue eyes.

"What's goin' on?"

"You wouldn't understand. You're all in touch with your feelings and shit. Like, fuck, I bet you told Hippie Shakes you loved her after _one fucking date_, didn't you?"

Roman rolls his eyes; crossing his large arms over his chest. "Brie told me first, so fuck you, Deano."

Steel blue eyes narrow into slits, instantly. "Don't fucking call me _that_."

The Samoan shakes his head, lips curling softly as he chuckles under his breath. "Lay it on me, man. I am, after all, in touch with my feelings and shit."

"Fuck you, you dick. This is fucking serious. Who the hell else am I gonna talk to about this?!"

"I said lay it on me, didn't I? Dean, you know you can tell me anything. Ain't nothin' you say is gonna leave this room. So come on, tell me what's going on."

"I'm worse than fucking Cena, aren't I? Like that douche canoe could _at least_ tell Nikki that he loved her. He could fucking say those damned words. He wasn't gonna marry her, but he said he loved her. I can't even fucking do _that_! So what the hell is she getting out of this, huh?! Nothing! Cause I'm a fucking chicken shit loser who can't say three words to _her_, that I've said to _you_ a million damn times!"

"Do you love Nikki?" Roman asked the question, not because he didn't know the answer [he knew], but he wanted to hear Dean say he did. He could tell by the way his best friend looked at the buxom Bella Twin. His eyes twinkled with an affection he reserved for no one else. The steel blue a warmer shade, like a clear sky. His lips, not quirked slyly into a smirk, but a real smile.

That real smile was slowly curling at Dean's lips. "Yeah." Low and rough, but more honest than Roman's ever hard him.

Rising from the bench in his locker room, the big man pats him on the shoulder. "Just tell her, man."

Dean pushes him away with a harsh heave. "That's your advice? Just tell her, man?" He mocks the second-generation wrestler while the big man just shakes his head.

"Yeah, that's my advice. You ain't worse than Cena. You _really_ think Nikki was gonna put up with anybody's bull shit after dealing with his for so long? Why do you think, she's still with you even though you haven't told her you love her? Cause she knows you will, you know, when you're ready and all that junk."

"It was _that_ _fucking picture_..." Rumbles off of Dean's lips and Roman arches a curious brow. "What picture?"

"This picture on her instagram in this white dress." The genuine smile is replaced by a smirk, his eyes dancing as they go darker with obvious lust. "She looked _so fucking hot_, dude. Like mind-blowing..."

"Is there a point to this?" Roman interrupted.

"Don't act so high and mighty, like you can't look at your girlfriend's twin. Every dude that's ever walked through those curtains has checked Nikki out. Even you, Reigns."

"Nikki looking hot in some picture on her instagram is a Tuesday. That ain't got a damn thing to do with why you burst in here and had yourself thinkin' you were worse than fucking Cena. So like I said, is there a point to this?"

"There was a caption under the picture. She said she was a bride in her own way. Those fucking words, man, it's like they're under my skin. Like they're a fucking itch I can't scratch. I can't get them out of my head. How can I not be worse than Cena? We both know I ain't the marrying kind. How can I be? I can't even fucking tell her I love her."

"You love me?"

* * *

Whirling around, Dean's wide blue eyes meet Nikki's chocolate. Her eyes are softer – not shimmering with flirty intent or lustful pools of amber – and so open, as if her heart is _literally_ staring at him or some other sappy shit. There's this warm look on her gorgeous face, one he recognizes because he knows it as well as his own face. It's there every time she's said i love you; from the first time to the most recent, which was after they steamed up the windows to the cab they took to the arena this afternoon. Her voice was so throaty, uttering the words, against his achingly hard flesh just before he was engulfed by those luscious lips.

He could feel his throat bob and there went the pounding of his heart again. This time, he swore, it was going to burst. Like, actually, physically burst from his chest and escape so it could run to the woman standing in the locker room's open door and then runaway with her.

Cause she owned it.

The way she owned the Diva's Division with her vicious rack attack.

When Roman had left his own locker room, neither Nikki or Dean knew, because they were only focused on each other; their eyes locked together, almost as if they were engaged in a staring contest.

"You love me?" She repeated, stepping further into the room after shutting the door.

Had she _ever_ looked better than this? Dean wasn't sure as his eyes took their time to roam over her every inch. Today's dress was a warm shade of blue, the perfect compliment to her sunkissed skin. She was practically poured into the dress, the seams molding wonderfully to those insane curves of her buxom frame. Her full and round breasts offered up in a way that was criminal and he knew the view from the back would be just as luscious; the lush globes of her tight ass stretching the material of the dress to its limits.

**Fuck**... He could feel himself grow hard, his length thickening inside his jeans.

"You come in here lookin' like _that_ and you want to know if I love you? I don't even know my own name right now."

Red lips quirk cockily and she does a little spin on her pencil thin heels, revealing the back of the dress, which dips low to the small of her back and he can't stop from biting out, "You're gonna fucking kill me."

Whatever space between their bodies has been closed because Dean's suddenly surrounded by everything Nikki is. She's right there; every one of her insane curves pressed alluringly into his thickly muscled frame. One elegant palm cupping his jaw, the other flat against his wildly beating heart.

"I would never." She purrs lustily, leaning to nip at his ear. "If I killed you, I'd have to start wearing panties again, and I've gotten used to going commando lately."

"What the fuck, Nicole?!"

"Just being honest."

An unapologetic shrug of slim shoulders and a completely fake look of innocence on gorgeous features.

Shaking his head, Dean can't stop the words from pouring off his lips, "I love you."

Nikki rolls her eyes while she scoffs. "Seriously, Ambrose? I tell you that I haven't worn panties in forever, basically, and you _finally_ grow a pair and tell me you love me?"

"I tried to tell you earlier. Fuck, Nikki," More honest than he's ever been, his eyes clear and warm, as if she's staring into a perfect spring day. "I've tried to tell you a million times. But it was that damn picture from your instagram. The one of you in the white dress..."

"The Herve Leger? The Dior?" She interrupted curiously.

"The fuck if I know. It was a white dress and you looked hot. Now, shut your trap; I'm trying to tell you what made me finally grow some balls about this shit. Jesus." He ignored her put out look, shaking his head as he reached out to cradle her face in his palms. "It was a white dress and you captioned the picture _i'm a bride in my own way_ or some shit like that, and I couldn't get those words out of my head. It was like they were under my skin, like some itch I couldn't scratch, and it was because I knew I loved you. I just had to finally say it to your face."

"Tell me." Throaty and almost identical to the way she had sounded just before she had sunk to her knees and brought him into the sweet warmth of her mouth.

"I love you." And it's like sunny warmth has burst inside his veins.

Manicured fingers sink into the dusty fringe of his hair, scratching his scalp affectionately, and again, "Tell me."

Lips quirk at the edges and clear blue eyes twinkle. "I love you."

The next thing that happens is, blue falls from sunkissed skin, leaving her bare. For a brief moment, he swears his heart ceased to beat. He's seen her bared for him so many times before this and while she doesn't look different, in this moment after saying those words, she's never looked more gorgeous.

He arches a brow, eyes drifting from those beautifully round and full breasts to lust filled pools of amber eyes and he says, "You givin' up bras, too? Cause I'm okay with that. Besides, you'll quit your bitchin' about how I'm _always_ ripping your expensive underwear and shit."

"Yeah, no," Nikki remarks, cupping her own breasts in her palms. "Bras are what keep the girls from getting saggy, and I didn't pay all that cash for them to get saggy."

"What if I," Dean steps forward, hands dropping from her face to her breasts, pushing her own away and cupping them himself. "Just kept my hands right here, like _this_," Low and heady, sending heat spiraling right to the very center of her. "All the time?"

"In your dreams, Ambrose. You'd _never_ let me walk out of the house bare-ass naked."

"Ah, fuck, you're right. No one gets to look at you but me. Especially like this; naked and perfect. Just for me, right, Nikki?"

"Just for you, Dean."

Laying her down on the floor of the locker room, just before he slides himself to the hilt of her, her shapely legs wrapping around his thick waist, he tells her again, "I love you."

And when she's clawing at his back and then her nails dig into the firm globes of his ass, pushing him in deeper as she spreads her legs, she tells him, "I love you."


End file.
